


Kindersarg

by Kladdis



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Dark!Dipper, Depression, M/M, Manipulation, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, insane!dipper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kladdis/pseuds/Kladdis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said his death was painless. They said his death was quick.<br/>Dipper Pines would not know, he was not inside his body when it died. </p><p>He is forced to subsist in the mindscape, but when Gravity Falls is endangered by a secret only the Mystery Twins could unravel, Dipper must decide which he values more: his sanity or Mabel's live.</p><p>ON HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindersarg

**Author's Note:**

> Kindersarg – child's coffin

“You killed me!”

“Depends.”

“W-what? No! Noting depends, you just killed me!”

“Well, to be quite frank – don't call me Frank, the last one that did that is still collecting his carpal bones – your dumb sibling killed you. Correct me if I'm WRONG but I think Shooting Star was the one that pushed you of the stage.” crackled Bill while he hovered over the monochrome seat rows, his arms crossed in front of his triangular body, and carelessly swinging his legs.

“I can't believe you! Mabel only pushed me because you were possessing my body!” Hot panic clenched Dipper's heart like an iron lock as he stared at Bill, trying to ignore the bloody mess of broken bones and tangled limps at the foot of the stage and blending everything else into white noise. His breath came out short and ragged.

“Na, na, Pine Tree.” chided Bill. “You can't hyperventilate 'cause you have no LUNGS to do it anymore” A cruel laugh erupted from the triangle, hollowing in the quiet space of the mindscape and bouncing off of the walls. “And ya can't go into shock, because – you guessed it – you need a body for that AS WELL.” Even more laughter, colliding with the one still echoing in the theatre and amplifying it tenfold. Bill floated over the nevertheless quite shocked Dipper, who hung in the air like a wet rag, to look at the lifeless body slumped in front of the first row seats, and studying the pool of blood, drenching cloth. “Oh boy, I really did a number on you, didn't I?”

Realisation only began to slowly sink, like syrup on a pancake, and Dipper tried with all his might to stay level headed. It didn't work out.

“That- that is impossible! I can't be d- dead. I am right here! I am not dead, see?” shouted Dipper, fear high pitching his voice as he slammed his thump on his chest for emphasis.

“Are you dumb? Didn't you _listen_ what I just said? You can't go into shock because. You. Are. Dead! Geez, and here I thought you flesh bags had a BRAIN or something.” nettled Bill, summoning his yellow cane and twirling it around his black stick-arm, malicious delight in his eye.

“I- can't be dead… I am here, I am _talking_ to you. Right now. I’m still alive. I'm conscious.” Dipper asked breathlessly.

But of course Bill was far from answering his questions. He simply blinked twice before looking between the mutilated corpse and the floating Dipper.

All breath left the boy.

“I'm not d-dead, because I wasn't in my body when it... died?”

“Congratulations!” Bill shouted delighted while he threw a handful of colourful confetti in the air which began to crackle like a silvester popper. “And unless you want to stay inside a rotting meat bag – funny as that is -... Well let's say I would recommend you make yourself comfortable in the mindscape, because immortality is a PRETTY LONG TIME!”

“That is-.... no.” Somewhere amidst frantic panic, stultifying fear and shattering shock, the rational part of Dippers brain argued that it was rather logical to assume that Bill was right.  
It made a sick kind of sense, oozing down his throat until it poured into his stomach. Dipper didn't die inside his body because he had not been in his body at its moment of death.

But Dipper was too young to die! He had so much to do, he- he had to find the author of the journals; he had to have his first kiss, albeit with a girl, he never rode a plane, heck- he would even gladly do the summer assignment they had got in school! Twelve years were **not enough**.

So Dipper let his determination swallow his panic and anxiety and met Bill's unblinking eye with steal in his gaze.

“I want to make another deal, Bill. I want my body back!” He was proud that his voice only wavered a little bit.

Bill broke out in a booming laughter. His little hands clutched the space under his bow tie as if his stomach clenched and his eye was shut in mirth. The triangle wiped a metaphorical tear out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, Pine Tree. You are a RIOT today!” said Bill once he had calmed down enough for coherent sentences. “Even if I would agree to such a DUMB deal; where would I get a body for you? I need to trick your stupid kind into deals to possess one for my own. And let's not talk about the fact that you have NOTHING that I WANT!”

“I-... what?”

“Aww, come on. Use that EXCUSE for a brain of yours for a change.” crackled Bill. “Oh wait! That's still inside your BODY!”

Dipper could only stare blankly as the triangle began to howl in laughter yet again. He tried to form sense of the heard, tried to wrap his mind around the things Bill said. He could not return to his body because he would likely die if he did. He could not ask the demon for a new one, since Bill seemed, or at least acted like he could not provide one and even if he could, apparently Dipper had nothing the triangle wanted. That could not be right, could it? Dipper was still here, he could still-... do things, couldn't he?

“You're like me now, kid.” sneered Bill. “Well not even nearly as good looking or even REMOTLY as powerful. If I needed someone like you, I would go trick others. You wouldn't BELIEVE how many humans end up in your exact position!”

Bill seemed to really like hearing himself talk.

“But you can't just leave me here like this! This whole catastrophe is your fault!” cried Dipper enraged; he couldn't believe the guts of that stupid demon.

“Oh, why thank you, Sapling. Flattery will get you EVERYWHERE.” cooed Bill as he held his little hands under his eye as if to hide a blush. “No one can say I had a heart of stone! So, I'm all ear-...” Bill's eye turned into a big yellow ear “...- tell me; what can I do for you?”

Dipper eyed the triangle suspiciously. He didn't trust the demon one bit.  
But what had he to lose? He was – apparently – dead, and currently a spirit floating in the mindscape. He had nothing to offer Bill and the idiot knew that. So Dipper would tell him exactly where he could shove his 'generosity' and wish the triangle to hell.

“Your presence was more than enough, Master Cipher.” Dipper snapped his teeth shut with an audible clack and his eyes grew plate wide.

“Finally someone who recognises my effort!” jeered Bill. “I'm the master of the mind, better not forget it! You are now resident in my domain; that means you are now my SUBORDINATE!” declared he sadistically. “But you are a pretty big BORE at the moment, so I'm gonna skedaddle!”

A bright yellow flash filled Dippers vision and Bill disappeared without a trace. A heavy stone somewhere in the region were his stomach used to be dragged Dipper to the ground next to his body. He willed his feet to stay on the polished hard floor, felling the smooth surface beneath his sole without feeling it at all – more like a faint whisper of what once was. It was a disconnecting experience.

Though the world was still frozen in black and white and grey around him, Dipper needed little imagination to see the blood on his body red.

His body's arms were covered in minor to heavy cuts and black bruises. His right leg was angled in a way it was never intended to go – when had that happened anyway? Black blood streamed from a cut on his hairline over his right cheek, pooling in the hollow of his closed eye. His neck was snapped, dented in the middle at the place where it had connected with the very front of the wooden audience chair in the first row.  
Around his body were people scattered with a multitude of emotions on their faces, ranging from surprised petrified to horrified, the mindscape creating a gruesome version of a wax museum.  
Here and there were small pieces of cloth, strings or plastic eyes from the sock puppets, which had exploded with the fireworks at some point during Mabel's fight with Bill.

Dipper's gaze landed on his sister. Her face was blank, the look of someone who hadn't quite grasped what just had happened. The hand that had pushed Bill was still outstretched as if she had wanted to catch Dipper's body before it fell.

This was too much. Dipper felt tears well over the rim of his eyes, felt the knot inside his gut tightening painfully – he had to close his eyes.

He was really dead, wasn't he?

This was really happening, wasn't it?

He was standing in front of his crumbled corpse, could almost sense that no life was inside anymore. No rising of chest, no weak but steady heartbeat, no rattling breath past bloody lips. Nothing.

Silence.

He wished to be anywhere but here, in front of the very proof that Dipper Pines had died – killed by his own sister. He wanted to leave.

The stone inside his gut seemed to get even heavier, forcing Dippers knees to buckle under the weight and he could only remain standing with immense effort. The weirdest feeling rattled through his bones, like a muscle snapping back in place with the force of a raw rubber band against red skin.

“Dipper!”

A high pitched cry, filled to the brim with pain and desperation, breaking off in the middle into a cruel sob.

Dipper opened his eyes in time to see the colour bleeding back into the world, like fluid paint over a blank canvas. People began to move again, first slowly like underwater, panicked shouts somewhat muffled. But Dipper did not care about them, his view zeroed in on his sibling, wonderful Mabel, who had jumped down from the stage, staggered before falling limply over her brother's dead body, clutching the blood red fabric of his suit in trembling hands.

Dipper was painfully aware of every breath that stayed behind his lips as he watched his sister with big eyes, his soul mate, his best friend. Violent sobs wrecked her lithe frame, tears like small rivers flowing down her cheeks.

“D-dipper, Dip Dop, wake up. It worked, Bill's gone, come back Dipper.” wails Mabel, her face pressed against the unmoving ribcage of her twin. “This isn't funny anymore, come on. Wake up!”

“I -... I am here, Mabel. Right here.” whispered Dipper hand raised in vain hope of comfort. Tears burned down his transparent cheeks, dripping from his jawline, never meeting the polished floor. Everything felt alien and _wrong_. “I'm fine Mabel, look.”

Strangers tried to approach the sobbing child, but Mabel only cried in absolute pain, her face distorted into an ugly mask of grief. Slowly, carefully setting one foot in front of the other, Dipper glided towards her and threw himself over her back, hugging her tightly, willing his arms to stay on top of her. She could not see him; hear him; feel him anymore. She could not see him cry in desperation, she could not hear him making false promises that everything will be alright again, she could not feel his arms holding onto her for his dear life, because if he let go he would truly die, would truly disappear.

Mabel was his beacon, his safe harbour and if she was gone, so would be Dipper. And he was her rock, her steadying constant, always there with a clever plan to clean up her mess that such a jolly personality was prone to produce.

They were the half of the other, only complete as two, like Ying and Yang, inseparable.

At least until now.

Mabel could not see, hear or feel her brother. She could only feel her grief, her regret, her heartbreak. Her other half, her best friend, her little twin brother ... was gone.

▲▼▲

The sobs that rocked Mabel's body became his minutes, each cry of grief a second and each call his hour. Calling his name, asking why, denying what happened.

Grunkle Stan had come after twenty-two sobs laying a hand through Dipper's ribcage onto Mabel's shoulders, but Dipper could not care less, didn't even feel the intrusion, really. Wendy and Soos stood somewhere in the crowd, shell shocked, someone had called an ambulance and another person had wanted to perform CPR on the corpse but had been unable to move Mabel.

A heartfelt scene, really.

But Dipper felt too distant, so foreign to the tragic set in front of him, surrounding him yet excluding. It was his own corpse party and he was the main attraction. Or more, his lifeless cadaver was the focus, while he was ignored.

This train of thought was highly unfair, Dipper could see that. No one in this room choose to ignore him, no one wanted to _not_ see him. They all would be a lot happier if they were aware that Dipper was still there, within their circle of grief.

Slowly, Dipper stood on uncertain legs. His body was void of sensation, the hardwood not touching the soles of his shoes. A blank expression on his face, numb from the tears and pain as he watched Grunkle Stan stroking soothingly over Mabel's back. His sister’s tear had not diminished, still flowing like two small waterfalls down her jaw onto the cheap fabric of the costume on Dipper's corpse.

How oddly funny that the notion of _his corpse_ didn’t creep him out anymore. But that could just be the shock speaking, there was not really a reliable dissection of his inner workings possible at the moment.

 

The doors of the theatre room crashed open with a hallowing crack and men in red uniforms entered the odd scene. Mabel was ushered back, held in a tight embrace by Wendy who used Mabel's brushy hair to hide her own tears. Dipper watched dull as the rescue men began to check his body for vital functions, how they tried to lay his neck in a more comfortable position so the nerve endings were not further damaged. He watched as they violently pumped their hands on Dipper's ribcage, crushing the delicate bones with disgustingly ringing sounds. He watched as they forced air into his lungs, artificially rising and sinking his chest. He watched as they declared the CPR not useful and got the defibrillator. Dipper felt detached, ironically distant from his body. He felt as though this all was not happening to _him_ but to a truly distant person, a stranger really.

He closed his eyes, he didn’t need the picture of several thousand volt running rampage through his corpse. The noise of the defibrillator, the high pitched cry before it unloaded four thousand volt into his body, the mental image of dead flesh crisping in process, was truly enough. He still heard Mabel's cries of anguish and pain, her sobs and tears, but that felt far away. He felt too small for his body, felt like the flesh constricted by skin was pouring out of bodily openings, his eyeballs pushed aside for meaty sausages, small rivers of blood rushing out of his ears, filled with little red chunks.

Dipper needed to leave.

He fled as fast as he could fly out of the theatre, through walls and concrete, towards the star filled sky. The nightly air did not tease him with a soothing touch, nor did the cold shook him from his numbness. All sensation was still gone, he felt the earth around him, but could not _feel_ it. As if he was an alien being, watching from afar on a picture of peace and quiet.

Gentle light emitted from shops and houses, family's eating dinner or watching TV, the last employee closing blinds and putting stands back behind glass facades. Faint smoke hung in the air around the biker pub, forming unrecognisable pictures into the night sky and quiet murmur from inside was brought up to Dipper's ears by the tender wind.

Nothing.

There was nothing inside Dipper anymore, no tranquillity, no peace and quiet – just nothing. He felt empty, broken as if he was completely alone.

Well, he was alone, was he not? No one was left that could see him; no one knew he was still there. Dipper was completely justified in feeling the way he did, was he not?

He thought of Mabel's tear smeared face, of her delicate hands clutching bloody polyester. He had to be strong for her; he had to clean up her mess like he always did. He was not allowed to meddle in self-pity, not as long as his twin was unhappy.

Dipper felt determination return to his bones, burning through his veins again. It was not a will to liv- to continue but it was close enough. He would fix this problem for _her_.

But where to start?

Dipper focused his gaze onto the slowly creeping head- and tail lights of cars, illuminating the otherwise empty streets like veins in a concrete body. What should he do?

He needed a way to communicate with Mabel, a way to signal he was- not really alright but at least still here. He needed a body.

But were to get one? Dipper doubted to find one lying around in a shady dumpster around the Dusk 2 Dawn shop. He although doubted to find a brain dead comatose patient in the almost always empty, four room hospital.

He did not necessarily needed a human body - though preferable - he needed at least a puppet, but where to get one? The sock puppets were all destroyed, so no use going down that road. And anyway, Dipper would like to have a full body suit, not just something to stick his hands into. He craved physical sensation, despite being deprived for only a few minutes. He could not imagine how his mental health would suffer under these conditions in a long term aspect.

An unnecessary shudder went through his body at that thought. Nothing to dwell on, he needed to concentrate for Mabel. Always for Mabel.

He needed a lifeless body, something nobody would miss, something replaceable and ripe for the taking.

His sight fell on the lit mall, emitting artificial bright light on the streets in front of the panes. There were countless mannequins inside. Mannequins that looked like people; had no one living inside and were practically countless.

A small smile stretched Dipper's transparent lips at the thought. It was almost too easy, felt almost like cheating out. But nothing was too cheap a tactic for the well-being of Mabel. 

A small flicker of will compelled his bodiless body to fly towards Gravity Malls, as it became increasingly easier to control it into the motions Dipper wanted. Once flown through several walls and glass windows, getting terribly spooked by an overtired rental worker and stopping in front of _For the Mighty Glory of the Graph Paper_ to admire the newest stet of Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons on display, Dipper stopped in front of the _Edgy On Purpose_ store and stared at the black Mannequin, clothed with the equivalent of an old wash cloth pinned together by paper clips. It had, god knew why, several piercings around its nose and one over an empty eye socked. Its ears had surprisingly more holes that it's clothing. Must be a fashion statement of some sorts.

Dipper squinted his eyes to peer into the otherwise dark shop to find a hole rack full of Robbie's heart sweater and-... were those Ducktective shirts? Whatever those were doing in a shop that sold key chains with a kitten nailed to a burning cross next to the wet dream of every angst-y teenager with acne problems- a wall filled with mascara in several paraphrases for the colour 'black'.

Quickly banishing the mental image of Robbie despairing over the multiple choices of 'emotionally dead black' as an eye shadow (props to Mabel for every inch of brain matter that was dedicated to make-up terms and correct application), Dipper glided through the darkened glass panel towards his Mannequin of choice and stopped dead in his tracks right in front of the combination of poor clothing and cheap plastic.

Under what assumption did Dipper think this could work? What kind of assurance did he have that saved him from a fate of an eternity inside a terribly dressed Mannequin? All he knew was that he could slip out of a sock puppet. What would he do if he found himself locked inside this thing? Forever doomed to be striped by employees for minimum wage until a child ripped an arm off or scrawling his half chewed gun onto a plastic leg for Dipper to be discarded into a dumpster and burned to be refined into heels for hideous men's wear.

There was a high probability that Dipper was overthinking things again.

But alas, this was not for Dipper's sake, this was all for Mabel. For her, he would gladly spend years as cheap imitation of Oxford's, until the day he die-... ceased to exist.

So he filled his non-existent lungs with air that did not react to his presence and stepped into the lifeless Mannequin.

It was … dark.

Well. That sure was anticlimactic. And here Dipper thought that this would be some big showdown, with either flairs of unbearable pain or walking on plastic stilts towards the theatre and-...

There was _nothing_.

No sound, no lights, no feeling of shredded cloth on skin, nothing.

Were Dipper had thought before that he was diploid of physical sensation, it was nothing compared to _this_.  
Utterly void darkness spread thought every sense, swept through his nerves, sinking into his dead organs, clogging veins and muscle. It was scary and mind numbing. It was wrong wrong wrong and yet so right right right.

Dipper imagined that this was what Death was all about.

There was no reason left, why should he not stay inside inside inside? It was so much easier that going out, were problems and fears and grief waited (always grief). There was just dark dark dark and death death death.

Dark.

Alone.

Dead

Forgotten

No.

He wanted to be remembered

Alive

Together.

Light,

he saw light, at the end of the tunnel of slick stone and raw concrete, saw it streaming through small cracks of broken glass (black black black), illuminating his face warm and bringing with it sensation, as limited as it was before, but in hindsight of ultimate numbness, so overwhelming, so flooding that Dipper fell on his knees, right out of the Mannequin.

With flailing limps, uncoordinated, he scrabbled towards the blackened window, desperate to get away from that-... thing.  
It was a construct of pure evil, Dipper was sure of it. He had never felt so dead inside, so gone. And that was despite the fact that he had _died_ today.

He tried to squeeze air back into his lungs, heaving, sweating. An experience that he didn’t want to repeat. His heartbeat clashed against bony ribs, pumping as heavy as an air hammer, up down up down up down. Had he-... he had almost lost his mind, he was sure of it. He had stood at the brink of insanity and repented. He was … as alive as he could be at the moment.

Dipper stood, with rattling teeth on shivering legs, and dusted his clothing off, gently beating the blood circulation into his legs. A shuddering breath left him before he turned towards the window to leave this damned place and-...

Brown.

Dipper stared into a muddy brown iris, almost as big as his head. A breathless yelp passed his lips before he took an unsteady step bag. Behind the shop window was a … something.

In all his month spend in Gravity Falls he had never seen something comparable.

The monster looked like something sprung right out of an Lovecraftian novel, with a single eyeball as big as a car tire, lidless and unmoving, and numerous dark-green, slick tendrils hanging to the floor, oozing a transparent liquid onto the scratched ceramic tiles of the mall.

His breath nailed to the inner side of his chest, heart clenching painfully, Dipper winced aside. To his uttermost horror, the giant eyeball followed his movement, trained onto his face with sick fixation. Its unwavering gaze pinned Dipper to the ground like a butterfly onto a cork board, fastening his fluttering wings with deadly precision.

Terrified, Dipper watched as a mucous tongue parted hanging twines just beneath the bulking eyeball, revealing a set of teeth like a bear trap and a murky fume exhaled into the air. “YOU SMLEL DLCEIIOUS!” shrieked the thing, voice contorted into an otherworldly rattle, full with the cracks of collapsing lungs and squishes from a macerated vocal cord. 

It began to move slowly, with tendrils gently swinging and leaving a trail of slime in their wake. The eyeball connected with the blackened window, wobbling a little as the cornea met smooth glass and it was all needed to jerk Dipper out of his stupor.

He blasted through the ceiling. 

Mind you, it would have been a lot more dramatic if his body still had a corporal form, but his heavily beating heart and racing breath took his full concentration, every instinct drawn to the aspect of _flight_.

He flew up into the dark night sky, only feeling somewhat secure between silvery stars and a cooling wind he could not feel. His plate wide eyes were still trained on the shrinking glow of the mall, all orange and mild.  
Dipper tried to calm his breath, forcefully counting seconds of every exhale and drawing it just a little longer than the inhale. He remembered that his mother once taught him this method of dealing with panic attacks, but he would have never guessed that it would be used in this kind of situation.

Just as his heart decided that hammering itself through Dipper's chest would be rather unhealthy, a movement from down below peaked Dipper's interest. It was vague enough for him to discard it as an optical illusion, but the dark speck began to throw a wider shadow into the lull light of the mall, growing the more time progressed.

Despite better judgement, Dipper found himself gliding slowly downwards, until he could easily read the mall sign. Only then did he recognized it, only then did the blood in his veins freeze and his lungs fill with little pinpricks.

The stare of a brown iris was concentrated on Dipper's vaporous body, while its tendrils glided over soiled asphalt.

It was enough to rattle through Dipper's bones and he fled as if the devil was on his heels. He imagined the air rushing past his ears, but it didn't, because Dipper was _dead_ and currently fleeing from an eldritch horror that _saw_ him and he had nowhere to be safe because nobody _knew he was still there_ and nobody could _protect_ him because that thing could _follow_ and-

Dipper almost raced past the theatre in his panic, came to a slithering halt in front of the gloomy entrance, ignoring the bright yellow police band and glided through the closed, heavy glass doors into the presentation room filled with empty chairs and rubbish.

It was barren, no living (or dead) soul inside, a dried blood puddle were Dipper's corpse had laid, and utter dark dark dark and he was alone alone alone and that thing would come _back_ and Dipper would be back in the dark nothingness of the mannequin and he could not let that happen he had to FLEE.

He barrelled through the celling again, crashed through the night sky, fanatic thoughts running rampage inside his head, treating to spill out his ears, nose, eyes in viscous chunks. He needed to run, it would get him, he needed to find Mabel, Mabel would protect him, Mabel Mabel MabelMabelMabelMabelMABELMABELMABELMABEL. 

The hospital. She would be at the hospital because that is where they bring dead bodies, is it not? And Dipper had a dead body that would be brought to the hospital so she would be there. And Dipper would be safe with Mabel, because it was _Mabel_.

He speeded towards the outskirts of town were a small, one-story building still fully illuminated, spilling bright white light onto the streets stood and rushed through the with gravel coated roof. He landed in a completely unfamiliar corridor, stretching seemingly far beyond the original outlay of the hospice – all dark, narrow and sterile.

The walls, where normally weirdly cheesy get-well-poster hung, like 'Hope you get better soon – Your health insurance' with a cute kitten beneath, were devoid of any personalization and the blank whiteness of them was only interrupted by unlabelled metal doors, each sporting a square patch of grey tinted glass. The lamps on the celling emitted a greenish light that gave the corridor an eerie feeling, spine-chilling.

This certainly did not help Dipper's already bolting heart that had decided to up the stake for what was physically possible and what not.

Suddenly, a door right behind Dipper opened zestful, transporting the pre-teen a few feet into the air were he hovered, eyes trained onto the door, waiting for whatever had opened it to appear. Visions of an eyeball slurping around the corner, before tendrils shot out and winded themselves around Dipper's ankles filled his head.

It was almost disappointing that only the head-doctor and a male nurse exited the room beyond the door. The white lab coat of the doctor seemed to glow in the strange light and lighter patches of fabric revealed itself. Probably some kind of black light, Dipper mused.

“Have you heard about the Pines boy, sir?” asked the nurse with gravelly voice that sounded somewhat familiar – which was not really a surprise; Dipper had spent his fair share of holiday time getting patched up again by several nurses and once even from the head-doctor.

“Yes, yes. What a tragedy, I'm sure the family is grief stricken.” murmured the doctor distracted while he concentrated onto the clip board in his hand and began to scribble something onto it with probably horribly messy handwriting.

Before rage at this dismissive behaviour could surface inside Dipper, the nurse had picked up on the discarding attitude of his superior. “With all respect, sir, but I think the loss of a child this age is not something took lightly.”

The doctor looked up with a frown on his face and gazed at the nurse contemplating. He reached out with a latex covered hand and stroked past the nurses cheek towards his neck. Dipper felt his face grow hot at this utterly private contact, feeling as if he had invaded something personal and averted his eyes.

His gaze snapped back as a non-committal sound came from the doctor, who now stood several paces ahead from the nurse, jerking his head as a demand to follow.

Without any further ado, the nurse followed and left a confused Dipper floating in the air. He looked after the two, listened to the hallowing footsteps that vibrated off the halls, cranking up in volume the farther they got away. 

A chill creped like wispy spider legs down his spine, spreading at the root down to his toes. This was beyond Gravity-Falls-weird, but so was the whole day, honestly. He began to float towards the roof, intending to leave this strange place and atmosphere, but as he passed the cardboard celling, he found himself inside a familiar, cheesy coloured corridor with big windows, glass panels showing the four patient rooms and cheap wooden benches at the side.

One in which a painfully well-known pile of sweater sat, successfully pushing Dipper's confusion into the back of his mind with a clutching of his stomach. He had completely forgotten Mabel. With the eyeball thingy, the chase and the weird corridor, it was easily disregarded that Dipper had _died_ today, that his sister had pushed him off the stage not even hours ago, ending his live and damning him to an existence in the mindscape for all eternity. It felt like ages since Dipper had been freaking out over Bill's uncaring behaviour, his 'it's not my shit to take, kid' attitude. 

Slowly, he levitated toward his sibling, who had pushed the rim of her pink horse sweater over her head and had retracted her arms through the sleeves, probably hugging herself.

Oh god. Dipper had been completely side tracked while his sister was in _Sweater Town_.

Grunkle Stan sat next to her, arms uselessly in his lab while he stared into empty space, his expression blank, aged at least ten years. He didn't even look up when a female nurse in a short skirt arrived.

“Mister Pines?”

It took a few seconds, but Grunkle Stan raised his head, his eyes dead and muddled but trained onto the nurse.

“I-...I have the results of our examination on your nephew. We-... could not save him. But if it's of any consolation, he had a quick death. He didn't felt any kind of pain.”

A horrid, single sob came from the piles of pink sweater, slopping with terror, grief and unbelievable pain. It ripped Dipper's heart into pieces, filled his stomach with acid and his lungs with ice. He could not bear to look at his sister, so he turned his head away, clenching his eye shut.

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Mister Pines. I-... heard of Mason's work for Gravity Falls. He-... helped my sister with an infestation of ghoul squirrels, he was a brilliant child.” she offered; her gaze sympathetic.

“I... yes, he was unique.” croaked Grunkle Stan and Dipper had never seen him look so _lost_. The old man was completely absorbed into his head, staring at the nurse without really seeing her.

“I know that you wish to grief right now, but I am judicially induced to inform you that we have to keep your nephew's body within our facility for at least a month, to ensure that his death was-... not influenced by other means.” the nurse calmly stated, a understanding look on her face.

But neither Grunkle Stan nor Mabel moved and inch, neither indicating that they had heard the said. The nurse just shrugged, flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder and left, vanishing inside the nurse office.

Grunkle Stan let a deep sigh out, sounding aeons old as he rose from the bench and laid a comforting hand on Mabel's shoulder.

“Come on, cupcake. Let's go home.” his gravelly voice travelled through the empty corridor, a knacks within his voice showing that he had not spoken for a long time until the nurse came.

But Mabel shook her head violently, the rim of her sweater bumping aggressively. “I won’t leave without Dipper...” came from beyond soft wool and clever stitches. Her voice sounded overused and raw, weak with the strain put on it over the last hours. Dipper found out that his heart could clench even more, having slowly evolved into granite hard muscle.

Stan groaned exhausted but did not seem like he expected anything else. He ran a hand down his face, dragging slack skin.

“I know that this is a lot to stomach, sweetheart. Trust me, I _know_. But your brother wouldn't have wanted you to give up because of him. You have to live for the both of you, do you hear me? That's what twins do for each other.”

“He is right Mabel...” Dipper whispered, even if he did not expect any reaction. “Even if I'm not here right now, you can't give up. That's my thing, remember?” he laughed weakly, tears threatening to come forth yet again.

Mabel stayed silent, but the shivering of her sweater betrayed her inner tumult. Stan sighed yet again, before he bent down to pick her up. He cradled her safely in his arms, stroking with his big, wrinkled hands over Mabel's back. For just a few second, he pressed his face onto Mabel's head, squeezing his eyes shut; face contorting into a mask of pain.

“I'll have to tell your parents...” he murmured, more to himself than anything and left with heavy steps.

 

Dipper stood alone in the empty hallway, a silent tear running down his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> Totenstille – dead(ly) silence
> 
> Beta by [Starysky205](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Starysky205/pseuds/Starysky205)
> 
> I'm working on a novel in my mother language at the moment and I am sorry that this fic is on hiatus. I will certainly sit down in future and finish it but right know I have to write the stuff that brings actual money in my bags.


End file.
